


Some Kind of Tenderness

by Gileonnen



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Comeplay, Drifter Doesn't Even Know How to Take Care of Himself, M/M, Massage, PWP, Shin Malphur Doesn't Know How to Take Care of People, Spanking, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/pseuds/Gileonnen
Summary: Drifter isn't sure what angle Shin Malphur's working, but if it's working him into Drifter's bed, that's fine by him.
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	Some Kind of Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).



These days, seems like Shin Malphur never comes around without a wicked glint in his eyes and a promise on his lips. Working some kind of angle, probably--some scheme that relies on him swallowing down Drifter's cock on the regular. Makes more sense than the alternative, which is that the Man with the Golden Gun comes back every time thirsting for the sting of Drifter's teeth.

Sometimes it's just that--Shin slamming him back into the sharp ice walls of the Derelict, hand a vise on his throat. Drifter scrabbling at him, nails and teeth and knives, until he can work an arm free or until he goes limp in Shin's grip. The rabbit beat of his pulse against Shin's palm and the hot cloud of Shin's breath against his face, and the taste of blood in the first devouring kiss.

Sometimes they fuck for hours in the sunlight, wrapped up in each other on Drifter's little cot bed in his room off the Annex. Shin sucks him off again and again, until Drifter's sore from coming and Shin's lips are swollen and red. Or he works his long fingers into Drifter's ass one after another, slow and slick, watching Drifter's face as though the right twitch of his lips might send Shin over the edge.

There's blood in their kisses then, too, but the bites linger longer. Not sweeter--some other thing that Drifter's animal body craves more than sweetness.

When Shin comes to Drifter this time, it's near nightfall. He stands there a moment in the doorway, silhouetted in the white light of the Traveler that spills down the hall. Darkness and light chase each other across his face.

"Lookin' for trouble, stranger?" Drifter asks. He flips a Gambit token to hear the melody it makes--the sharp note of the flick, the dull ring when it strikes his palm.

"Found trouble," Shin answers, and steps into the Drifter's alcove. "Now I'm lookin' for you."

His gloved palm lights against Drifter's cheek, tipping his chin up. Even through the leather, his skin is hot.

They kiss in the shroud of Shin's hood, open-mouthed and yearning, searching for an opening to bite down. Shin's teeth graze Drifter's lower lip, his jaw, the thin skin over his jugular. He smells like gunpowder and flame; he smells like whatever trouble he found, he ended. 

"Take me to bed," Shin whispers against Drifter's ear. It makes all the hairs stand up on the back of Drifter's neck.

There was a time when that prickling unease didn't turn him on, but that time is long gone. He smirks and answers, "Thought you'd never ask."

Behind three locks and a deadbolt, Shin unhooks Drifter's pauldrons and skins down his robe around his shoulders. He palms Drifter's cock through his pants and groans full-throated when he finds it hard under his fingers. They wrestle each other out of armor and belts, trousers and undershirts; their guns shiver into data fragments before they hit the floor.

They don't make it to the cot--just drag a sleeping bag onto the floor and jerk each other off there, clutching at hips and shoulders until they both lie limp and spent.

Shin drags his fingertips through the come on Drifter's stomach and licks it up, eyes half-closed, as though he's savoring the taste. It's filthier and more tempting than it has any right to be. "Anyone ever tell you," Drifter mumbles, "you're a real freak in the sack?"

"Mm." Shin's damp fingers trace Drifter's ribs, his waist, the bone of his hip, and everywhere he touches, Drifter's skin comes awake under his hand. "Didn't see you complaining."

"Just wondering what to expect for Round Two, 'cause I know by now there's gonna be one." Drifter curls in to rest his head against Shin's shoulder, to nip lazily at his neck. "It's like they say in the Crucible, right? First round's just a warm-up."

"Only if you lose." His fingertips are drawing slow circles now over the swell of Drifter's ass, pressing harder with every sweep until Drifter can't help smothering a gasp against Shin's throat. "Like that?" Shin asks. His voice is hushed, serious--like he's on the edge of some kind of reverence that Drifter doesn’t want to understand.

"Hell yeah, I like it," he answers, and doesn't bother to hide the strain in his voice. "Now quit teasing me and put it in."

Shin hums, not quite a laugh, as he kneads Drifter's ass in slow, steady strokes. The pressure of his hand burns like exertion, like stretching after a long crouch; his fingers dig deep into all the old sore places that Drifter hadn't realized he still carried. His warm breath stirs Drifter's hair. "Ain't teasing you. Just feel like taking my time."

"Same thing."

"Suit yourself." Shin nudges him up, and for a moment, Drifter thinks he's actually going to stop--but instead, he just sits on the edge of the cot and gestures to his lap. He's already half-hard, still shining with the remnants of his come, and Drifter's mouth waters just looking at him. "Lie down. Let me do this thing right."

A part of Drifter--the part that marks every exit, caches guns in every safehouse--wants to say no. No one shows him that kind of care unless they're banking it for later. It feels too good to be anything but a trap.

The rest of Drifter stretches out over Shin's thighs, and groans approval when Shin's callused hands slide from shoulder to ass.

Drifter closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arms. He hears the click of a bottle opening, then smells oil, and damn if he hasn't trained himself like a dog on that sound and that scent. His cock swells against Shin's thigh even before Shin's slick hand comes to rest against his backside.

This time, when Shin touches him, there's nothing hesitant about it. He kneads every knotted muscle, rolling it under his thumbs and the hot, sure heels of his hands; he fits his palms to the curves of Drifter's ass and squeezes and spreads him open. It feels like nothing Drifter's ever known before--none of the urgency of Shin's mouth working over the crown of his cock, none of the sweet lick of fear that gets him going when they're grappling for each other's throats.

It feels tender, when he rocks back into the pressure of Shin's hands and feels them slide over his skin in answer. It feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with heat.

When Shin's hand cracks down on his ass, Drifter's too far gone for it to hurt. It's only a new kind of pressure, hard and sharp and good, and he grinds against Shin's thigh and pants, "That all you got?"

The second blow falls harder, rocking Drifter's whole body; pain and pleasure ripple out from the point of impact until they mingle into pure sensation. He grunts and arches into it, pushing himself up on his elbows to get some purchase, digging his knees into the taut fabric of the cot. "C'mon," he growls, "let's go--"

"Easy," says Shin. He strokes his knuckles down Drifter's ass, and that light touch on the raw, sensitive skin is enough to make Drifter hiss. "Settle. I told you, I want to take my time."

Drifter bites off a curse, but he eases himself back down over Shin's lap. Every part of him is tense, anticipating the blow. He's so hard he can barely string two thoughts together, and still Shin tortures him with that slow, reverent touch.

When that hand lifts at last, Drifter sucks in a breath to brace himself. Lightning chases down his nerves even before Shin's palm smacks against the meat of his ass--even before Shin grinds his hand down, gripping Drifter's ass and squeezing it like he's staking a claim.

And fuck everything, Drifter wants to be claimed. He wants all of Shin's terrible focus on him, landing blow after blow with the precision that's dogged Drifter's nightmares for years beyond counting. He wants to endure it and wring pleasure from it.

He wants to be groped like he's something worth having.

The world condenses, until there's nothing left but the pressure of Shin's thighs against his stomach, the tightness in his chest, and the yearning in his loins. He rocks up into the steady rain of blows, the soft-edged heat that spreads out through his body in waves.

After what feels like a long time, Shin lays a hand between Drifter's shoulder blades and asks, "Enough?"

"Enough," Drifter says. His voice is as raw as his skin. He can't remember if he was screaming or begging. When he rubs his eyes, he finds they're wet.

Shin nudges him up, and Drifter shifts just enough to let him free his legs and lie down against the wall.

Drifter considers making a hoarse little joke about daddy issues. But as Shin curls up at his back, chest cold against the heat of Drifter's skin, the moment for joking passes.

Instead, Drifter fishes the sleeping bag up from the floor and drapes it over them, and they lie together, getting warm.


End file.
